


Reverse Polarity

by Delcat



Series: From the Indeterminate Time Gap [4]
Category: Don't Starve (Video Game)
Genre: Biting, Blood, Blood Drinking, Dominance, M/M, Mildly Dubious Consent, Plot What Plot/Porn Without Plot, Prompt Fill, Role Reversal, Scratching, Sex Pollen, Stuttering, Topping from the Bottom
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-05-09
Updated: 2014-05-09
Packaged: 2018-01-24 02:02:38
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,132
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1587566
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Delcat/pseuds/Delcat
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>The most remarkable of scientific discoveries are often made by accident.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Reverse Polarity

**Author's Note:**

  * For [too_much_in_the_sun](https://archiveofourown.org/users/too_much_in_the_sun/gifts).



Everything about the house, every last excruciatingly tiny detail, had been designed with thought and purpose.  Maxwell had certainly had the time for it, after all, and it paid off.  He couldn’t pinpoint where his pet was as easily as he used to be able to, but the vent system made sure he was always in earshot.  Wilson never questioned how Maxwell was able to be there so quickly when he woke screaming from a nightmare, or when the occasional explosion was set off—he was just glad there was someone there to extinguish the fire, one way or another.  He was less grateful and more questioning about Maxwell’s uncanny ability to know when he was attempting release without permission, but as Maxwell frequently pointed out—so frequently, it seemed—he wouldn’t have these problems if he’d ask politely.  
  
Going by the way the clattering and coughing fit degenerated into quiet whimpering, it was a combination of problems this time.  
  
Maxwell sighed mutely and disappeared the Book with a wave of his hand before getting up.  The last time he’d been interrupted, he had forgotten to hide it, and it had been sheer luck that Wilson hadn’t found it.  He didn’t want to imagine what would happen if Wilson attempted “science” with the awful thing, although he often did, unbidden, when the nights ran long.  
  
A soft moan echoed through the vents and he hurried to the lab, sigh audible this time.  He kicked open the door easily, absently trying to settle on appropriate punishment. “You just don’t _listen_ , do you, k—”  
  
He stopped dead.  Wilson was nowhere to be seen, and the room was…strange.  There was a cloying, earthy taste to the air, and the workbench was covered entirely in bizarre, swollen mushrooms.  What could the ridiculous little man possibly be up to?  
  
It was only as he was slammed into the workbench that Maxwell was reminded that despite his persistent aura of a small nervous animal, Wilson was by no means “little”.  
  
He didn’t turn so much as _was_ turned, Wilson’s hands digging into his back, then his chest, and there was something feral in the other man’s eyes when they met.  He was panting, undressed, and he took Maxwell’s jaw with one shaking hand to hold him still while he exposed him in turn.  
  
The world felt tilted.  Wilson’s need was inexhaustible, constant, but he didn’t _act_ on it.  It had to be drawn out of him, bullied and coaxed and caressed until he broke down and started begging Maxwell to use him.  Now it was his hand on Maxwell’s throat, his tongue pressing past Maxwell’s lips, his hand forcing Maxwell’s cock to aching fullness, slicking it with God-knows-what, and Maxwell…Maxwell was…  
  
Maxwell forced away the reverie he was falling into as he felt Wilson’s razor edging beneath his collar.  He angled away, bit Wilson’s arm in warning. “What the _hell_ has gotten into—”  
  
Wilson bit _back_ , and the pain was a spike of electricity through Maxwell’s shoulder.  His lips brushed the spot as he finally spoke, his voice hoarse. “Shut up.”  
  
He dragged the razor down, angled up to rip through Maxwell’s coat, shirt, vest, and pulled them all open to expose his chest.  
  
"Shut up and f-fuck me."  
  
Wilson mounted him too quickly for either of their comfort, Maxwell not quite able to bite back a moan as his pet slid down onto his cock, Wilson not bothering to hold back a jagged, almost wounded cry.  The first jerk of his hips was pained, useless, and Maxwell cursed under his breath as he reached to support him with both hands.  It wasn’t that he wanted this—vulgarity, it was insubordination and the bitch would be paying for it later, but if he wanted to be fucked, so _be_ it.  
  
Wilson didn’t let him lift too far, just enough that he could lean in while still rolling his hips, and Maxwell jerked as the tip of his cock touched his stomach.  The rule that kept Maxwell as clothed as possible was unspoken but strict, and while he sometimes allowed the slide of a hand onto a thigh or shoulder if his pet was being amenable, the delight he was taking in—taking _from_ —his bare flesh was unacceptable.  He hissed under his breath as Wilson’s tongue played over his chest, his nails scraping down his sides in bright, angry bursts.  
  
"—f- _fuck_ —”  
  
—and Wilson was _biting_ again, brief but hard, painting a row of delicious bruises up his chest, and when he got to his neck he drew blood, sucked at the wound, his cock pinned and pistoning against Maxwell and Maxwell’s cock pinned inside of him—he was surrounded by him, engulfed in him—  
  
Maxwell’s hands tightened as he lost control, pulling Wilson down onto him fully as he spent inside of him, a strangled cry escaping his abused throat.  Wilson’s teeth were still on his throat and his scream was muffled, but the sudden wet heat on Maxwell’s chest was answer enough, and he felt blood run hot in his cheeks as his tightened body pulled the last bit of pleasure from him, forced him to lose himself entirely, if only for a moment.  
  
After a long moment spent shuddering and moaning softly, Wilson raised his head.  He felt…swimmy, absolutely wonderfully warm, it was beautiful, it was…  
  
Reality clicked back into place as he looked down at his master—bruised, disheveled, half-undressed, and totally silent.  
  
"…uh—"  
  
——  
  
"I j-just want to say—one m-more time, for the r-r-r-record, that that was c-completely out of line.  I do not—I absolutely d-do _not_ know what c-c-came over me.  F-for the record.”  
  
Maxwell ignored the voice in the birdcage.  Wilson had been apologizing since before he had been locked in, and if putting the cover over it didn’t help, nothing would.  
  
"I j-just—it seemed like a good idea a-at the t-time, and you were enjo—I m-mean I wouldn’t want to _presume_ you were e-enjoying anything, but—l-look, I’m just sensing a lot of hostility, and…M-Maxwell, just s-say you’re not mad, please?”  
  
He slitted the velvet cover open, just far enough to gauge Wilson’s expression and let him gauge his.  
  
"You’ll live."  
  
"Oh, that—th-thank you, I—wait, what?"  
  
Maxwell closed the cover again, rather more tightly, and examined the mushroom he held precariously in one hand.  It was one of the few that remained intact after the…incident, and it didn’t take a scientist, gentleman or otherwise, to understand that the spores were what had temporarily but entirely removed his pet’s inhibitions.  
  
He wrapped the specimen up carefully and placed it in a small box, where it was sure not to burst.  
  
Not now, anyway.  
  
Maxwell smirked.  
  
This was going to be _fun_.

**Author's Note:**

> With thanks to Jack for the prompt/challenge/arm twisting/freaking fanfiction cold war


End file.
